


Secret Agent Man

by MissCricket



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Multi, Secret Agent Carver Hawke, Spies & Secret Agents, Warden Carver Hawke, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2018-11-28 22:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11427399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: After a mission that almost killed him, and left him critically injured, the Wardens sent Special Agent Carver Hawke home to Kirkwall, with strict instructions to recuperate and be looked after.Needless to say he's really not happy about it. Mostly because his family think he's a freelance photographer with a thrill seeking habit. But also because his brother has become a multi-million dollar business man with aspirations of political glory, since he's been away. He also owns The Bone Pit, the only gay bar in the city, and where everyone knows the Hawke name, but only if it's attached to Garrett. And that's not even mentioning his and Garrett's friends. Or that his mum and Bethany are going to kill him if they find out what really happened to him. ..He has regrets.





	1. Carver Has Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> A new and shiny AU because I have problems.
> 
> NOTE ON PAIRINGS: None are set, and I welcome suggestions.

“My decision is final,” Athena Cousland informed him, closing the file on her desk with a definitive snap, “You’re on Leave, Hawke, and by that I mean rest, relaxation, and the care of those close to you.”

 

“You can’t be serious!” Carver stared at her, horrified, “So the incident in Haine didn’t go to plan…”

 

“If by not going to plan, you mean you almost died then sure,” Cousland shook her head at him, “Look you did a great job Carver…”

 

“Then why are you punishing me!”

 

“I’m sending you home!” She might be small in stature but there was no mistaking the authority in her voice, “You’re hurt, Carver. You went through a terrible ordeal. You need time to heal, inside and out.”

 

“Please…” he made one last attempt, “I don’t need to go...look I’ll stay at my desk, I’ll go home to my apartment. I’ll be good!”

 

“Carver,” her voice softened, but the words were still firm, “This isn’t a punishment. You need to go home. And I don’t mean to that white box you sleep in.” she gave him a small smile across the desk, that crooked catlike smile that was just so bloody hard to resist, “You are a great Warden, Carver, one of my best. But I need you at 100% and until I’m convinced you are, then you’re on paid Leave.”

 

He stared at her, knowing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he wasn’t going to win this fight.

 

“It’ll take me a while to find a flight out…” he pointed out weakly.

 

A smug smile was his answer, and a small hand sliding a plane ticket across the desk.

 

“They’ll be there waiting to pick you up.”

 

* * *

 

The Wordwide Agency of Response and Defense, or W.A.R.D, was the dream job of a lifetime for Carver. 

 

Being a Warden suited him just perfectly. He loved the adventure, loved the danger, loved the feeling of protecting humanity. That never went away, no matter how many petty crime cases he solved or how many hours he had to spend doing paperwork.

 

It had also come with the perk of being based in Amaranthine, in Ferelden, far enough away from Kirkwall that none of his family could happen to ‘just pop by’. Especially since his cover job as a photographer, and extreme sports enthusiast, had him travelling often. 

 

So it had been a long time since he’d been home, he’d missed the last Christmas celebration, with a weak apology, and had instead spent Christmas day parachuting into a combat zone to sort out a Rivani assassination attempt. 

 

Good times.

 

But the fact that he’d missed the biggest holiday of the year, the time for family and friends, had been poorly received by his mother, and his siblings. Work wasn’t an excuse to miss Christmas, in their eyes, and he had been avoiding seeing them in the ten months since, in large part, due to his unwillingness to subject himself to the inevitable guilt trip.

 

Bloody Athena, meddling again.

 

With a grunt of effort he got up out of his seat on the airplane, and headed out, bag hanging from one hand, into the business that was Kirkwall airport. 

 

And straight into the waiting embrace of Garrett.

 

Maker dammit.

 

“LIttle brother!” the man boomed, hugging Carver so tightly that Carver actually felt his vision grey from pain. Sweat broke out across his temples, he could feel it, and he thumped his brother’s shoulder as hard as he could to get him to let go. Unfortunately Garrett took this as the oafish comradery that he and his friends regularly indulged in and slapped Carver’s back in return.

 

He almost blacked out.

 

Almost.

 

“Garrett!” Next thing he knew he was free and gasping, and a pair of worried brown eyes were peering up at him, a cool hand on his cheek as his twin sister scolded Garrett, “He’s injured remember?”

 

“Ah that’s right,” Garrett’s smile had dimmed slightly, golden brown eyes fixing on him in turn, “Limping back home. Good thing your parasail crashed or we’d never see you huh?”

 

And it had begun.

 

“Where’s Mother?” he asked Bethany, deliberately ignoring Garrett’s jibe, “I thought…”

 

Bethany smiled softly, and he found himself relaxing. They had their differences, but in many ways no one understood him, or could read him better than Bethany. She understood him in a way no one else had ever been able to, and seeing her made him realise that he had, in fact, been away too long.

 

Not that he’d ever tell Athena that. 

 

“You know mother,” Bethany laughed, “She’s at home cooking up dinner for an army of thousands. All your favourites. She was worried about you, you know? Crashing like that? We all were.”

 

“Not me!” Garrett declared, slinging an arm around Carver’s shoulders, albeit far more gently, “I knew your stone hard head would be just fine.”

 

“You big fraud.” Bethany laughed, as they all began to walk towards the exit, “You were as worried as the rest of us.”

 

“Sorry I didn’t call much…” Carver mumbled, feeling as awkward and off kilter as he only ever seemed to be around his family, “Bit busy…”

 

“Yeah, almost dying from your own stupidity will do that.” Garrett breezed through, and Carver had to fight down a wave of annoyance as well as the urge to correct him with how he REALLY got injured.

 

Of course he stopped himself.

 

Just.

 

Interrogation had nothing on family.

 

Bethany rolled her eyes, leaning into him and he found himself relaxing again. Maker bless his sister...if she hadn’t been here he and Garrett would have come to blows here in the airport already. And in his current state he would have lost, badly, and then gotten an earful from Athena and Nathaniel, who was the Warden in charge of more covert missions. 

 

“So, what’s news…?” he asked, feeling stilted.

 

“I’ve opened my own shop,” Bethany informed him, cheeks pinking with pleasure as he made an appreciative noise, “It’s nothing fancy, but Garrett helped me fund it.”

 

“I would have helped…” Carver protested, a stab of something confused and angry in his gut as he realised his sister had chosen to go to Garrett instead of him, “I could have helped,”

 

“I know you would have.” Bethany squeezed his arm, but he could feel Garrett’s eyes on them from nearby as he headed over to scoop Carver’s bag off the arrivals carousel, “But being a photographer wouldn’t pay well I think, and I’ve seen photos of your apartment Carver...it’s tiny.”

 

“But…” 

 

But he couldn’t explain that the apartment was government issued, the building owned by WARD, and was home to all the Wardens. He couldn’t explain that one of his bosses lived across the hall from him, or that his upstairs neighbour liked to sing wildly inappropriate songs at 4 am some friday nights.

 

And he certainly couldn’t explain how his bank account was flush with money from hazard pay.

 

“It’s okay Carver.” she kissed his cheek, and he felt like the worst twin brother in the world, “Maybe you could donate me some of your photographs to decorate the walls? Some look bare.”

 

He was sure they didn’t. But he knew she was trying to be kind, so he smiled and nodded, following her and Garrett out to his car, feeling worse than he had in Haine.

 

And that was saying something.

 

“Welcome home…” he muttered to himself, before he stepped out into a rainy Kirkwall afternoon.

 

Awesome.

 

* * *

 

His mother cried when she saw him, much to his discomfort and his brother’s delight.

 

She hugged him tightly, but carefully, cupping his face in her hands.

 

“Look at you,” she smiled through her tears, “You’re such a handsome young man. And you really are okay.”

 

No-one could do guilt like Leandra Hawke.

 

“I’m really fine Mother,” he rolled his eyes at her fondly, ignoring Garrett as his brother stomped up beside him in his oversized feet, “I told you I was.”

 

“Not like there were any brains to scramble in there right?” 

 

He kicked at Garrett even as his mother turned to scold him.

 

His attention was caught by the motley group of people that spilled out onto Leandra’s front lawn. Some of them he recognised, but there were new faces scattered in with the old.

 

Aveline was there, and as tall and strong as ever. Her red hair was tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail, and her outfit, even out of her police chief uniform, was as clean and starched as if she was indeed still in uniform. She nodded at him, and he nodded back, which was all the platitudes required with her.

 

Isabela and Merrill were also there, the latter of whom waved cheerfully at him when she saw them look her way. Merrill was a florist who had somehow gotten tangled up with his brother when he found her crying on a park bench. A loan of a few thousand dollars later and Merrill’s beloved flower shop, Dalish Delights, had been re-opened, re-furbished and Merrill had been adopted into the family of misfits his brother always seemed to attract.

 

He liked Merrill, she was friendly, and uncomplicated, and she always smelt nice. Sometimes he found bouquets delivered to his doorstep with his mother’s care packages, and he knew they came from Merrill.

 

Isabela on the other hand was a curvaceous woman who liked to display herself to best advantage. To the casual observer she looked like any number of gorgeous, women, but behind the glamour was a shrewd business woman and a brilliant gambler. She was a partner of his brothers, one of his advisors and one of his best friends, but she had her own business empire too. One that was slightly more salacious and morally grey than his brothers more staunchly above board stakes.

 

And he knew the condoms in his care packages were from her.

 

She winked at him, and he huffed slightly before turning away.

 

Fen, short for Fenris, who was one of Carver’s favourite people, was on the balcony, arms folded over his chest. He nodded when he met Carver’s gaze and turned away, disappearing back inside. He was reclusive, but incredibly articulate, and someone he’d gotten along with much better in his more recent visits. Fen was an artist, capable of bold sweeping landscapes, delicate portraits and wistful watercolours. His talent was incredible, mind boggling in it’s beauty, but he still remained restrained, unwilling to chase fame. And after the shitshow that had been his last relationship, and what the abusive bastard had done to him, Carver couldn’t blame him.

 

And Fen didn’t need to know that Carver had made sure Dan would never see the light of day again.

 

There were two other men Carver didn’t know, one with bright blond hair, amber eyes and a laughing but tired face, and the other who was handsome, with incredibly bright blue eyes in a coffee with cream complexion. He was striking and obviously charming enough to have gotten Aveline to unwind, since the redhead was chatting amiably enough with him.

 

He tuned back into his mother’s scolding of Garrett, and was irritated once more by the fact she was smiling, and that Garrett was blatantly not taking her any kind of seriously.

 

“Let’s get you inside,” Bethany murmured, and once again he was grateful to his twin sister, as he followed her into the house. He was tired from the trip, and Garrett’s greeting had left him aching and longing for the strong painkillers in his bags.

 

Not that he could take them in front of his family, they knew he’d been injured, badly enough to come home, but they didn’t know the extent of it.

 

And they never would, if he had anything to say about it.


	2. Cullen Has Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver settles back in, but the shadows of Haine won't let him be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the lovely people over at the Carver Defense Society for their support.

Dinner is a veritable feast.

 

After dropping his bags off upstairs, Carver had poked his head into the kitchen, drawn by the array of amazing smells. Only to see his mother, and the people his brother hired to look after the place, cooking up a storm.

 

There was food to feed a small army, rather than the four members of the Hawke family.

 

Carver lingered, wondering how to tell her that there was too much food until suddenly Garrett was right there, looking in as well.

 

“Maker’s breath, who does she think is going to eat all THAT.” Garrett hissed, thumping his fist against Carver’s shoulder.

 

“Us,” Carver growled back, rolling his eyes as he drew back, “ _ That _ is for us.”

 

“For YOU, little brother,” Garrett pointed out, “She’s cooking all your favourites after all, in celebration of YOU coming home,”

 

“And you eat like a horse,” Carver reminded his brother, eyeing his stomach as though it were anything other than lean. He had only a touch of height over Garrett, but he had far more bulk and muscle than his brother. Where Garrett put away all the food he could eat, was a question for seers, sages and scientists rather than him.

 

“Not THAT much.” Garrett pointed out, indicating towards the bustling kitchen, “Only one thing for it I think...”

 

He plucked out his phone, and tapped the screen before raising it to his ear.

 

“Oh no,” Carver realised, too late, what was about to happen.

 

“Varric!” Garrett boomed, wandering back out into the main part of the house, Carver following helplessly behind him, “You’re coming over for dinner tonight!”

 

And he wasn’t the only one.

 

Garrett’s friends were still in the living room, and out on the lawn and scattered throughout the home, and he sailed around, trailed by Carver, to invite all of them to join them.

 

So dinner was a raucous affair, with everyone chattering and eating and laughing, making Carver relax a little. It reminded him of dinner back at the Amaranthine Agency, where everyone gathered together, unwilling to eat alone and preferring each other’s company to the solitude of their apartments.

 

He sat next to Fen, who was quiet as usual, but with sharp, dry humoured comments that never failed to make Carver chuckle into his meal. He knew that it pleased the other man, saw how his green eyes crinkled at the corners when he managed to provoke a bark of laughter, or a snort, or a chuckle. They understood each other, both familiar and adept with sarcasm and biting wit, which helped both of them relax, uncomfortable as they could be in social gatherings.

 

The man on his other side was introduced as Sebastian, the blue eyed, coffee skinned man from the front lawn earlier. He was a Prince, an honest to Maker, Prince, whose family ruled Kirkwall’s closest neighbour city state, Starkhaven. Sebastian himself however was a businessman, with connections and a man known for having exceptional taste in anything decadent. 

 

His reputation didn’t convey a man who was both friendly, and impossibly charming, with a gentleness to him. His reputation as a wanton philanderer, a purveyor of all things exceptionally beautiful and valuable, fell short when Carver listened to Fen, who usually took a great deal of time to warm up to someone, talk happily with the other man. By the end of the dinner he still wasn’t sure who exactly Sebastian Vael was, but he rather liked him.

 

Except he noticed Bethany glancing down the table at the man. 

 

And blushing.

 

One of the other newcomers was further down the table, blond hair tied back in a rather rakish ponytail.

 

Varric was his brother’s best friend, a handsome man with an earring and a tendency to wear shirts with a ‘Power V’. Carver rather thought the best way to describe Varric is that in another life he might have been a pirate or a swashbuckler. He just had that look. He and his brother were thick as thieves, which helped, since Varric was the most enjoyed and respected author and journalist in the damn city. He went everywhere with his leather messenger bag that contained his beloved laptop, Bianca.

 

Carver also knew that Varric had written a number of more salacious romance paperbacks.

 

One had been pegged at his head when he’d burst in on Athena reading it in the middle of the night.

 

In his defence however, he’d heard crying, and he’d thought something was wrong.

 

She still liked to tell that story.

 

The last man at the table was the blond from earlier, and Carver had almost had a heart attack when they were introduced.

 

“This is Anders!” His brother declared, gesturing broadly, in his head, probably grandly, as Carver proffered his hand to shake Anders’, “He’s a doctor! And he used to be a Warden Agent!”

 

Carver’s gut lurched wildly.

 

“You don’t have to declare that to everyone we meet Garrett,” Anders remarked wryly, thankfully looking at his brother as the handshake ended and Carver desperately tried to make his face look like it normally did, “It was a job.”

 

“Only the best are agents at W.A.R.D.” Garrett slung his arm around Anders’ shoulders and beamed at him, “Right Carver?”

 

“Uh huh,”

 

Did his voice sound weird? It felt weird.

 

“I’m just a doctor now,” Anders turned back to him, and thankfully didn’t seem to notice that Carver was struggling with normalcy, “I just looked after agent’s working with W.A.R.D. I wanted to do more…”

 

“Cool.”

 

Internally he slapped himself.

 

“See?” Garrett smirked at Carver, before turning back to Anders, “I told you I was the smartest in the family.”

 

Carver bristled, even as Anders laughed.

 

“Bethany is the smartest,” he declared firmly, already acutely aware of his inadequacies beside his twin and his brother.

 

“Too true,” Anders agreed cheerfully, immediately endearing himself, even as Garrett spluttered indignantly.

 

“You should let Anders have a look at your injuries Carver,” his mother had appeared, checking on everyone around the table and Carver winced, “He’s an excellent physician, maybe he could help?”

 

“I’m fine, mother…” he glanced to the side and caught Anders’ interested golden brown eyes, “Truly.”

 

“You’re hurt, baby.” His mother kissed his forehead and smacked his brother over the head lightly with her hand as he snickered, “For me?”

 

Now what?

 

He could say no, hurt his mother’s feelings, and possibly insult Anders too, who he’d only just met.

 

Or, he could acquiesce and run the risk of Anders actually following it through and seeing the residual effects of Haine on his body.

 

Carver shivered, face paling slightly.

 

“Sure,” he agreed, turning back to his dinner, unaware of Anders’ eyes lingering on him, something sharper and more assessing in them now, “For you.”

 

* * *

 

_ He couldn’t breathe. _

 

_ He could hear their voices, they filled his ears, even as the air leaked out of his lungs. _

 

_ He couldn’t move. _

 

_ He could feel the pain, burning, agonising. _

 

_ He couldn’t speak. _

 

_ He could hear himself screaming. _

 

* * *

 

Carver came awake gasping for air, hand already pressed over his mouth, muffling the cry that had been caught before it was fully born. Quickly he turned over and buried his face in his pillow, allowing him a moment to let the heaving sounds have free rein before he sat up and ran his fingers through his sweat dampened hair.

 

The house was silent around him, as his pained, panting, labouring breaths slowly subsided.

 

No footsteps, no anxious faces at the door. 

 

Thank the Maker.

 

* * *

 

“You look tired,” 

 

Carver looked up and met the kind eyes of Cullen Rutherford, one of his closest friends, and the second in command of the Kirkwall branch of the world’s largest Cyber Security Company. Templar Knight Security was massive, powerful, with a presence in every nation in the world, barring the Tevinter Empire, but Cullen seemed to be the same as he ever had been, with his curly fair hair, glasses and small smile.

 

“Sorry,” Carver sighed, sitting up slightly, “Flight must’ve wiped me more than I thought,” 

 

“Uh huh…”

 

Cullen also had the most annoying superpower in the world. He always seemed to know when Carver wasn’t being altogether truthful.

 

Which made it a good thing he hadn’t asked Carver whether he used Templar Knight Security then. 

 

W.A.R.D had their own special system, and after he’d seen some of the backroom data on TK Security Carver was glad he didn’t use them.

 

“Cullen….”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Cullen grinned slightly, cocking his head as he considered Carver, “Although if I was going to say something…”

 

“Which you don’t have to…”

 

“...I’d say that you look really tired Carver. When was the last time you slept properly?”

 

Before Haine. 

 

“I’m fine,”

 

“Carver…”

 

“Cullen.” 

 

The two young men stared at each other, before Cullen sighed and pushed a big cup of coffee towards the young man.

 

“You look like you need this.”

 

“When did you get this?”

 

“Before...when you were zoned out, staring at the table.”

 

Maker had he been out of it that long?

 

“Sorry Cullen…” he felt like a complete arse now, but the other man nudged his knee with his, instantly assuaging those concerns.

 

“Look I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it. But buddy you do know that you look like death warmed up right?” Carver looked down, “Which isn’t fine...but hey. I’m here, you know that right? Anytime. Day. Night. During a meeting with Meredith. Preferably during a meeting with Meredith. Call me...I’ll be there.”

 

He wanted to take him up on it. Wanted to unload all his burdens.

 

But…

 

“Thanks,” he said...and sipped his coffee, feeling worse when the action made Cullen smile.

  
  
  



	3. Anders Knows Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett organises a group field trip to the Bone Pit, Carver asserts his independence and Anders sticks his beak in.

Carver was surprised it had taken three days.

 

“Now you’re back in town Little Brother.” Garrett drawled, with that insufferably smug smirk that always and without fail made Carver want to punch him right in the face, “You have to come see what I’ve done with The Bone Pit.”

 

Ah yes, The Bone Pit. the best gay club in the city with the worst name. Garrett had bought it from the previous, struggling owner, and had turned it from one of Carver’s favourite places to be, into a sort of...Garrett worshipping hell. It had been one of his first investments, and definitely the one he was most proud of. He’d begun making changes before Carver had moved to Amaranthine, and in the infrequent visits since he’d seen more being done.

 

Maker only knew what it looked like now.

 

“I’m sure it’s just...fine.” Carver grunted, trying to inch away from him. Which was difficult because park benches were seemingly designed by assholes who didn’t want to aid quick escape.

 

Just his bloody luck.

 

Across the table, Isabela grinned at him.

 

“What’s the matter, sweet thing? Feeling a bit rusty?”

 

“No, I-”

 

“Don’t be silly Isabela,” Garrett snickered, “For it to be rusty it would have needed to have gotten _wet_ in the first place.”

 

The two of them dissolved into laughter, and Carver viciously yanked at his leg, feeling something sharp tug in his chest as he did. Slowly he eased back into sitting. Last thing he wanted to do was rip something, or re-injure himself. The doctors here, wouldn’t be W.A.R.D doctors...wouldn’t keep it quiet.

 

“Not everyone enjoys clubs as much as you, Hawke.” Fen murmured, wandering over to rejoin them, his deep, cultured tone soothing Carver almost immediately, “I certainly do not.”

 

“If you knew how much time Carver here spent at The Bone Pit before I bought it, you wouldn’t say that Fen,” Garrett informed him, clapping Carver on the back, “Come on little brother. My treat.”

 

Ow.

 

Fucking. Ow.

 

“I’m not a dog you can just tell to come, go, fetch or sit, Garrett.” Carver growled, annoyed, as he felt both Fen’s green eyes on him, but also the golden brown eyes of the Doctor sitting near Isabella on the other side of the table.  He’d been quiet so far, but his eyes often wandered back to Carver...it was disconcerting.

 

“Don’t worry pup,” Isabela leaned in, her ample assets on full display as she did, “You’ll be able to... _bury your bone_ there.”

 

Garrett fell about laughing, and even the doctor cracked a grin, as Carver glared at them.

 

He was NOT going to The Bone Pit.

 

* * *

 

The Bone Pit was located in the middle district of the city, away from the docks and the poorer areas, but not up in the richer part either. It was one of those places where people of all walks could mingle, and the big hanger style entrance facilitated that.

 

The club had spread out over an industrial park of a number of warehouses, that had now been interconnected to create a vast, sprawling web of buildings centered around a cavernous main room where music blared, drinks were served and bodies writhed in dance.

 

It was unrecognizable, but Carver almost couldn’t be mad with the awe he felt for the scope of his brother’s vision. It was wild, and powerful, and the decor of stone and rough hewn materials, with huge dinosaur like bones arching overhead, made the whole thing feel even more primal. The place was packed with more people than Carver had ever imagined in a gay club.

 

And every single one of them seemed to know Garrett.

 

His brother strode into the room and was quickly noticed, a cheer going up through the crowd, as Garrett grinned, glancing over at Carver.

 

“Ergh,” Carver grumbled.

 

Isabela had shed her coat at the coat check and now wore one of the most revealing outfits Carver had ever seen, all tight, with cutouts, thigh high boots and her voluptuous bosom right out on display. She looked amazing, and exotic with gold earrings glinting in her ears, and her thick silky hair loose about her shoulders. Women all around the room were eying her, and, to Carver’s chagrin, Bethany too.

 

His sister was dressed a little more conservatively, but only a little, with tight pants and an underbust corset, over a flowing blouse. To Carver she rather resembled a vampire hunter from one of those gothic horror films, but it suited her, even if he disliked all the eyes ogling her.

 

Garrett was dressed to the nines in a vest and his hair artfully gelled and tousled with a wrist cuff and jeans. He looked every bit the wild partier and eyes followed him immediately.

 

The rest of them weren’t so dressed for attention. Merrill was wearing something that was half lingerie and half cute, Fen had dark jeans on and a shirt that slid down over his shoulders, making him shrug it back up irritably. The Doctor friend was dressed rather like Carver, t-shirt, jeans, nothing fancy, while Varric was wearing a shirt that had a v so deep you could almost see the centre of the earth.

 

They all wore bands around their wrists that designated them as V.I.P.s, giving them access to the upper levels of the club where the music was more of a dull thud and roar than something pressing on the ear drums. It was a good place to escape from if the noise got too much.

 

As Garrett weaved his way through the crowd, revelling in his worshippers, Carver rolled his eyes and made his way to the bar.

 

“Beer,”

 

The bartender nodded, puttering around behind the counter before he slid the glass over, nodding at Carver’s wrist, “Here lemme swipe that for you.”

 

“What?” Carver blinked at him, uncomprehendingly, as he’d already fished his wallet out of his pocket, “How much?”

 

“No your drinks are on the house, I just need to…”

 

“What, no, I don’t have a tab here..” Carver tried to correct, tapping his finger against the bar, “How…”

 

“V.I.P’s with that band have their drinks on the house!” the bartender insisted, trying to reach for Carver’s band to scan it.

 

“How much?” Carver insisted, knowing that his voice was reaching that growly level it only got when he was getting truly annoyed.

 

“Sir…”

 

“I can pay for my own fucking drink.” Carver snapped and immediately regretted it, as the man behind the counter stared at him. With a sigh he fished out a ten and dropped it on the counter, before scooping up his drink and slipping back into the crowd. It was probably double what the drink was supposed to be worth, but he hadn’t wanted to stand there arguing for any longer.

 

The last thing he needed was Garrett noticing Carver paying for himself.

 

“I see you still have your stubborn pride,” Fen appeared beside him, shooting him one of those inscrutable looks with those incredibly green eyes, before sipping from his wine glass.

 

Despite his understated clothing, Fen was attracting a lot of attention from the crowd. Both men and women eyed him with interest, taking in the soft white hair, dark brows and piercing green eyes, not to mention the white, glow-in-the-dark tattoos laced all over his body.

 

Only his closest friends knew of the scars across Fen’s body, cut and burned into him by his bastard ex. He’d covered them up with the tattoos, the raised skin becoming a part of the art, turning something brutal, awful, disfiguring and heartbreaking into something beautiful. Which was Fen in a nutshell really.

 

Carver realised that his friend was acutely aware of the eyes ogling him. He was fidgeting slightly, shuffling from foot to foot, as he gripped his sweater more tightly.

 

Fen was a reclusive sort...but he always made an effort for his brother and his friends.

 

Even when this kind of sexual attention made him this uncomfortable.

 

A surge of protectiveness sparked in Carver’s gut, and he stepped forward, setting a large hand on the small of Fen’s back. It was proprietary enough that many of the eyes turned away immediately in disappointment, and a swift, cutting glare was enough to dissuade the rest.

 

He felt Fen stiffen and then relax under his hand, as he realised what Carver was doing, and he barely heard the other’s soft chuckle. When he looked down at him though, he could see that the smile on the other’s face was small, but genuine, and grateful.

 

Even though he’d never come right out and thank Carver, both of them knew. Fen was appreciated the rescue, and Carver was just happy he could help.

 

And as for Fen’s comment…

 

“Last thing I need is Garrett lording something else over me,” he replied, sipping his beer and shifting a pace away from Fen, giving him a bit more space once more.

 

“Maker’s breath you really do have a chip on your shoulder, don’t you?”

 

The new voice came from the left and Carver turned to see the doctor, Anders, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow. Beside him Fen tensed, clearly on edge again.

 

“What?”

 

“Hawke mentioned you have this ‘thing’ about him.” the blond man shook his head, a touch disapprovingly, and Carver felt his hackles rise, “Where you constantly feel inferior. I thought he was being dramatic...but you really do.”

 

Wow.

 

Carver was rather proud of himself for not punching the smug bastard right in the face like he so desperately wanted to, and instead he folded his arms, glaring.

 

“That’s cute, that you think you know anything about me simply because you listen to whatever drivel Garrett is dribbling that day.” he growled, and saw Anders’ golden eyes narrow, “But in case you haven’t noticed, my brother has a desperate need to be the centre of attention at all fucking times. And yeah, I don’t really appreciate it. Nor do I appreciate you coming over here to be a complete dickburger. So if you don’t have anything better to say, how about you piss off?”

 

Fen made a choked sound beside him, making Anders’ angry amber eyes flick to him, before turning back to Carver.

 

“Look I...I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just lucky you know? Having a family like yours?”

 

Oh god this again.

 

Like he had to feel constantly grateful that he had a family at all, because so many people had lost theirs. That didn’t change the fact that Garrett had a tendency to be a grade A dick. And he did love him. Just wanted to punch him every so often too.

 

“Yeah I know.”

 

Anders seemed to know that Carver wasn’t going to give him anything more than that, because he nodded, seemingly a bit lost, before he disappeared back into the crowd.

 

“He’s a doctor,” Fen observed, sniffing haughtily, “Makes him a bit…”

 

“Of a toolbox? Yeah I noticed.”

 

Fen laughed, which for him was a few huffed, puffs of air rather than a full on chuckle, “I was going to say sanctimonious...but that works too.”

 

* * *

 

Carver enjoyed himself that night, dancing among the masses, letting the pounding beat drown out his thoughts.

 

In fact the night was fantastic right up until the end.

 

When another stray elbow caught him in a sensitive place and he gasped, the air whooshing out of his lungs as pain stabbed through him.

 

Arms caught him as his knees crumbled, and a moment later he found himself in one of the interconnecting warehouses, this one full of couches, and the doctor, Anders’, amber eyes watching him worriedly as he was lowered down.

 

“You’re hurt,”

 

“No I’m fine I…”

 

“Shut up,” Anders’ voice was rough, but his fingers were gentle as he took advantage of Carver’s pain to carefully lift up the shirt, gasping at the damage he saw.

 

Quickly the young Warden shoved it back down, glaring at him.

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“Carver...that’s not nothing.” Anders’ face was pale as he stared at him, hand still resting on the younger man’s knee.

 

“I had an accident...paragliding.”

 

“Those injuries are not paragliding injuries, don’t take me for a fool, Carver.” Anders’ voice hissed, “I saw them all the time when I worked for W.A.R.D, though never to this extent...not unless they were dead already…”

 

“Thanks…” Carver rolled his eyes and hissed as he moved a little too much.

 

Anders glared at him, “These are not injuries you do to yourself, these are injuries _inflicted_ upon you.”

 

Carver shuddered, for a moment the faint pounding music was drowned out by another thumping sound, and the memory of his own screams.

 

He comes back to himself a moment later, but Anders’ face is pale, and there, and worried.

 

“You’re not a freelance photographer with a hobby for dangerous sports Carver.” Anders’ voice was quiet, “You’re a Warden Agent, aren’t you?”

 

And Carver, knowing there was only one answer he could give, sighed one word.

 

“Yes…”


End file.
